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Chapter 14: A Taste of Vulnerability
Last Updated:
2025-03-12 14:36:45
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Alistair's voice pierced the quiet, low and merciless, "I told you to stay out of it." The words came out as a directive, as though he expected her to turn in. "Your battle is not this one." Though Belle's heart accelerated, she refused to turn around. His comments lacked the ability to terrify her any more. He had no say on what she might or could not do. "I'm not afraid of you, Alistair," she responded, her voice firm but somewhat rebellious. Though she could sense his wrath boiling behind her, she would not be intimidated. Alistair's breath stopped, and in the dark corridor there was just the sound of their breathing momentarily. He trailed just a few feet behind her, his weight nearly stifling. You should be, he said softly. But Belle wanted no more fear. She was not the lady he had sought to break or the one he had fled years ago. No, she would stay her ground this time. Whether he was chilly, remote, or enraged, she didn't give a damn. She turned to meet him. Though his sil
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Sitting around the table, the board members watched her; some were curious, some dubious. Seated at the head of the table, Alistair looked not upward. His expression as impenetrable as always, his posture was stiff. She was not here for him though. She was here to convince herself she belonged. She could go above the murmurs that trailed after her every stride, the uncertainty hovering over her action. She offered her idea, a creative approach to increase the online portfolio of the business. Belle spoke with assurance, every statement deliberates, every concept more interesting than the next. Except for the sporadic tapping of pens against paper as the board members took down notes, the room was quiet. There was a moment of astonished quiet just before she finished. The board members then turned one by one, their expressions moving from incredulity to appreciation. Belle's suggestion was wise. The concepts were original, audacious, exactly what Kensington Enterprises needed to keep
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She almost ran into a man in basic navy shirt and pants as she turned the bend. Dark-haired and with a quiet professionalism, he was shorter than Alistair. Still, his eyes revealed another picture. Behind them was something strong, something not fit for this modern, polished edifice. "Mrs. Madrigal??" The man spoke in a low, almost quiet voice, as though he may be overheard. Certainly? Belle hesitated, perplexed by his abrupt presence. He looked unlike one of the security guards, and his casual clothes stood out from the neat suits of the Kensington personnel. "I'm Julian," he said, his face inscrutable. "My line of employment is IT. From looking over your file, I understand what happened. He looked over his shoulder to be sure nobody else was listening. "Miss Madrigal, someone put those files there. And you were not among them. Belle felt her pulse speed up. "What?" Are you sure? Julian nodded sadly. Though I lack all the specifics, I have been running server log diagnostics. Th
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"Miss Madrigal," he said softly but urgently. "You shouldn't depart yet." Belle stopped dead still, glancing about naturally. "why? What do you imply?" The butler's gaze flicked uncomfortably over his shoulder then he moved forward. "The Kensingtons cover things. Events darker than you are aware of." Her pulse accelerated and a cold crawled down her spine. Her voice tight with discomfort, she questioned, "What are you talking about?" He bent in, his breath hardly audible as he whispered. "Do you find out what happened to Alistair's sister?" Her heart skipped. Such a person was unheard of to her. Isla Alistair's mother had always seemed to be the matriarch; her influence was overwhelming. A sister, though? The riddle grew more complex, and the butler's eyes clearly showed worry. "What happened to her??" Belle pressed, now driven by a terrible curiosity. The butler hesitated even though his lips parted as if he wanted to speak more. Then he replied, in a voice hardly above a whis
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"Belle," he said, his voice low and silky. It has been far too long. She battled to keep her calm and swallowed. "What are you doing here, Bernard? " Her voice came out more steadily than she had anticipated, but as it swept a lock of hair off her face, her hand trembled. Bernard's lips curved into a known smile that had once melted her heart. Belle, I have been searching for you. I never paused. She felt the words strike her like a stomach-punch. Searching for her, he had been Why exactly now? Once all these years have passed? A harsh voice sliced across the room before she could reply. So, oh, well. Look who's returned; Evangeline stood at the doorway grinning smugly on her face. Her eyes furrowed as they passed between Bernard and Belle. Belle straightened; her back straight as she turned to meet Evangeline. She felt the usual sense of rivalry flickering inside her; she had not seen this tension still present. But the fact that Bernard was back worried Evangeline more than he
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Alistair, you ought never to have kissed her. With narrowed eyes and a deadly smile curling her lips, Evangeline stood at the threshold. Her voice clearly carried malice, and the strain between them was strong enough to cut right through. When Belle saw Evangeline, her stomach turned like a sharp knife pressed to the incision Alistair had just opened in her heart. "You'll regret this," Evangeline said in a whisper but with great force. Alistair stiffly stood; his jaw tightened. "It's not your concern, Evangeline," he shot, his voice slicing across the room like a razor. You never will and you do not own me. Alistair's voice was frigid, meant for Evangeline rather than Belle at this point, yet the words hung thick in the air, as though he were attempting to persuade himself more than anybody else. Anger, uncertainty, frustration, a tsunami of feeling, pounded Belle through. She had never felt this exposed, this vulnerable in front of anyone, and most definitely not in front of Alis
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Icy spoken, he said to the executive, "Excuse me." We will have to carry on with this later. A jolt of fire rushed through her shoulder, robbing her breath. The agony was acute, perhaps too acute. Her breath seized and for a little moment she couldn't even grasp what had occurred. The only thing she could sense was the excruciating heat sweeping across her body like wildfire. Her eyesight wavered, her legs turning to jelly under her, and she gasped. Her knees gave way. Unable to prevent herself from falling, she slowly fell to the ground. Her fingers sought for anything to grasp, but the glossy marble floor was too far. The jagged edge of the floor gnawed into her skin as her body fell like a ragdoll. Though there was something more awful, something different, the bullet's agony was blinding. The chill of the floor penetrated her, but it was not strong enough to dull the suffering gnawing at her head. Gasping and fighting for breath, her chest heaving with the strain and her pulse
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"She's stable for now," the doctor stated gently, meeting his gaze. The bullet wound is serious, though. She has bled a great deal. The larger issue, then, is her pregnancy. Alistair's gaze grew wide. The infant? The word strange, his voice breaking, like if it didn't belong to him. The doctor shook his head gravely. "She's in danger. We cannot be sure the infant is still viable given the major trauma. Though her situation is serious, we are doing all we can. The room appeared to tilt under him, and he grabbed the wall, the truth of the circumstance crashing over him like a tidal wave. His heart ached like if his actual chest was too tight to contain the breath he was fighting to inhale. His words hardly came out as he said, "Can she... can she survive?" The doctor's expression grew more serious. We are trying our hardest. But at the moment, it's touch and go. She might lose the baby… or worse. Every stride was quick as he took out his phone and down the corridor he strolled. Di
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Belle's breath stopped in her throat as she and Gabrielle raced to conceal the documents in Alistair's study. With every second stretching like an eternity and the sound of footsteps growing louder, closer, her heart raced in her chest. Gabrielle looked towards the door and froze, her hand resting above the drawer. In the stillness, the familiar creak of the study door reverberated. Overwhelming in presence, Alistair entered and his keen eyes swept the room. His eyes danced between them, pausing for a minute too long. You two are doing what in here? Belle's spine tingled at his low, menacing voice. Belle automatically sat up, her heart racing. Avoiding his gaze, her thoughts raced to create a justification that would not arouse doubt. She knew how observant Alistair was; he noticed every detail and saw everything. Gabrielle responded hurriedly, her tone strained as she moved in front of Belle, obstructing Alistair's view of the desk, "We were just, just talking." There is nothing
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The phone buzzed loudly in the quiet office. Alistair's attention was only on the papers in front of him; he did not look up. Impatient with the gradual advancement of his plans, he fingers drummed the desk. The phone's abrupt vibration, however, broke his thoughts. He snatched it up to find an unknown number flashing across the screen. "Alistair Kensington," he replied, his voice professional, used to the gravity of every word he uttered. Familiar but urgent, the voice on the other end. Rook here. We have to speak. Right now. Rook A former acquaintance of Alistair's who was aware of the most sinister aspects of his father's activities as well as the most sinister aspects of his own life. He felt a pang of anxiety. "Alistair, he's back," Rook said, his voice clearly weighted. The old foe of your father. The one who vanished years ago. He has come back. And he's targeting your empire. A frigid shiver went down Alistair's back. "Who?" I can't yet name you, but you must prepare. Al
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Theodore's eyes adapted to the dim light; he saw files that appeared to draw him closer, boxes coated in cobwebs, and shelves brimming with old volumes. Walking toward the far corner of the room, he found a wooden cabinet half-hidden beneath piles of papers. Theodore cautiously unlocked the cabinet as his fingers glided across its surface. Though their contents were far from usual, inside were dozens of file folders, each carefully labeled. Pulling one off the shelf, its label worn but readable: Kensington Family History, his heart raced. Though the final folder at the bottom drew his attention, the files were packed with information, birth records, bank paperwork, old photographs. His fingers quivering with expectation, he opened it carefully. There, in a tattered paper, was his father's birth record. The tidy writing covered the fundamentals: date, place, surname. Theodore hesitated, though, at the way the paper crinkled and felt more weighty than the rest. He looked down at the
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"Your mother loves you very much, Theodore," Lucy replied, her voice soft. But she doesn't always know what's best for you. She's... you know, emotional. Occasionally, her choices are focused on emotions rather than what is best for your future. Theodore looked up from his play to see his grandmother. Though he didn't quite get them, he felt their words sink into his chest. His mother had always been nice and protective; how could anything she did be incorrect? Lucy's tone became more personal as she leaned forward a bit. Haven't you heard your father talk about all the great things he can give you? The journeys, the knowledge, the life he has guaranteed you. Still, your mother prevents you from experiencing any of it. Theodore, why? Doesn't that make you question whether she actually knows what is best? Theodore stared at the goodies before him, his head spinning with uncertainty. He had never considered his mother in such a manner. Lucy’s comments put something fresh, something a
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Belle stood in front of the mirror, her reflection looking back at her with a mix of surprise and determination. Alistair's courtroom fight had finished in his favor, and she felt as though the walls were closing in on her. The man meant to safeguard her and their children was suddenly the one actually endangering their family disintegration. Every day spent with him served as a reminder that he controlled everything: her, Theodore, and all else. But not any more. She had decided. Belle walked across the room, ignoring the papers strewn over the desk. Running through the processes in her head, her heart raced and her thoughts raced. She could not remain here. Not in this home, not with him. The idea of Theodore maturing under Alistair's control made one cringe. The orders, the control, the cruel comments she could already hear. Her gaze remained fixed on the little suitcase by the bed. She had packed it before, just in case, but now it was more than just a precaution. It was all th
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"Should I open it?" he whispered to himself, nearly as if seeking permission. Staring back at him from the tablet's screen, his reflection showed eyes wide with the burden of his own choices. He tapped the first file without allowing himself another opportunity to reconsider. A screen for passwords showed up. Theodore looked over his shoulder and leaned back in his chair to make sure no one was around. He had to be cautious as he had no idea what sort of havoc he was about to cause. Typing in a few possibilities, names, dates, the keys on the screen felt alien under his touch. Then, on a hunch, he attempted his mother's birthday. The file opened and the screen flickered. Cold, clinical, a thorough study of the Kensington family's financial activities, a list of assets and holdings, the paper's contents were One aspect, however, drew his notice: his own birth. The day. The frigid, distant tongue. "Theodore Kensington," the paper started, "born under dubious conditions. Unfortunate
